


high by the beach

by princessoftheworlds



Series: It's not a crime to love what you cannot explain [24]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 11:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessoftheworlds/pseuds/princessoftheworlds
Summary: On a well-deserved vacation, Caroline won't stop bumping into this one British asshole.





	high by the beach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misssophiachase](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misssophiachase/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Cristy!

Caroline pushes her over-sized sunglasses - yellow to match the bright flowers on her white bikini - further up on her forehead, frosty margarita in hand as she struts her way toward the hotel pool area. There are multiple pairs of eyes on her as she walks, and she arches her neck, enjoying the attention and appreciation. She didn’t work on all those ab crunches during fall and winter to cover her shapely body in baggy sweaters all year.

Someone wolf-whistles, and she shoots them a quick smile and a flirty wink.

She’s drawing closer to the pool now, able to spot Bonnie and the Petrova twins from where they’ve settled down over a cluster of pool chairs. And besides them is the last empty pool chair that’s under the shade of the palm trees that enclose the pool.

She tips her head back slightly, her face basking in the warm rays of the sun.

God, she deserves this vacation, what with all the overtime she had to work this spring to secure those reclusive but highly-popular authors that her bastard of a boss, Damon, kept driving away from their publishing house.

There’s a quiet chime from her phone, nearly inaudible over the loud chatter and splashes from the pool, but Caroline only hears it because her ears became so attuned to the familiar sound over the last few months.

It’s a message from the devil himself, Damon:

_Blondie, N. Mikaelson just committed to us. We’re publishing his next bestseller._

Caroline experiences a brief thrill of excitement and triumph (N. Mikaelson was one of the authors she worked so hard to secure, emailing him extensively over the last six months), but it’s quickly overpowered by bone-deep exhaustion and a burning desire to get to her pool chair and shed off the stink of her five-hour long flight.

Except, when she glances back up from her phone, someone is now sitting in _her pool chair_.

“Fuck,” she hisses and storms towards the pool, bypassing Elena as she begins to wave hello.

She’s practically vibrating with fury by the time she arrives in front of the pool chair and lays eyes on its occupant.

He’s a gorgeous, gorgeous man. Sandy curls that are mussed fashionably. Dimples. An aristocratic nose. And that torso, oh that muscular torso with the faint golden hairs that trail downwards before disappearing into his navy shorts.

But that doesn’t matter; none of that matters. Not when he’s the bastard who stole her pool chair.

The man in question, when he notices her standing over him and glaring, raises his sleek black Ray-Bans to reveal inquisitive dark blue eyes that trail slowly over Caroline’s body. “May I help you, sweetheart?” he drawls, flashing her a brilliant but arrogant smirk.

“No, you may not,” Caroline rages, bristling, and the man’s eyebrows raise. “The only thing you can do, and should do, is get off that pool chair because _it is mine_!”

He chuckles in response, turning to exaggeratedly search the chair. When his eyes return to meet Caroline’s gaze, they are highly amused, and she huffs with irritation. “Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks softly. “Your name’s not on it.”

“Ugh!” She resists the urge to stomp her feet and wail like a toddler. “I had my eye on it! It’s right next to my friends.” Caroline gestures toward Bonnie, Elena, and Katherine, all who are watching her and this hot but aggravating man with curiosity.

“But you didn’t leave your belongings here or even ask your friends to drag the chair closer,” the man tells her, raking a hand through his messy hair. “Thus, I don’t think the finders-keepers principle applies here. Next time, do try to be faster.” His smirk only grows wider.

“Look here, buddy,” Caroline starts. “I have had a long day. My plane was late, and there was a baby kicking my seat the entire time. All I wanted to do was unwind by the pool, margarita in hand.” She gestures to the now-liquid drink in her other hand. “Give me the fucking pool chair.”

“Now, I have a proposition for you,” the man begins, but Caroline never gets to hear it because, at the exact moment, a stunning blonde from the other side of the pool yells for a “Nik!”

The man groans, propping himself up and rolling his eyes when there’s another call for “Nik.” Turning to Caroline, he smiles slightly. “I guess you got lucky, sweetheart. Enjoy the pool chair.”

Caroline decidedly _does not_ watch the man’s shapely ass as he retreats towards the blonde and smiles smugly as she slips into the pool chair, slides down her shades, and begins to sip her now-watery margarita.

 

* * *

 

“One of us is gonna get laid tonight,” Bonnie prophesizes as she, Elena, Katherine, and Caroline step inside the club.

“How can you be so sure?” Katherine asks slyly, arching her neck. She’s already making seductive eyes at a hot brunet across the dance floor.

Caroline rolls her own eyes. “I don’t care if she’s right or not. I just need to get laid.” She struts off, tossing her curls behind her.

Finding a guy to flirt with can come later. Right now, she just needs to lose herself on the dance floor.

Nearly an hour later, Caroline stumbles away and heads for the bar. Her head is aching from the flashing lights and the pounding bass, and her minidress is glued to her skin in random places from her sweat, the hemline creeping higher and higher up her bare thighs as she totters in her high heels.

“One strawberry spritzer,” she tells the bartender, leaning an elbow on the counter as she slides up onto a stool.

She taps her fingers restlessly on the counter as she waits, but within minutes, the bartender is handing the liquor-filled glass to her. Caroline tips him with a few loose bills from her clutch before slipping off the stool and making her way towards the dance floor.

Then she promptly collides with someone else, and her drink slips from her hand and spills all over herself.

“Fuck!” she cries, but her shriek is swallowed up by the volume of the dance floor.

“You really should watch where you’re going, sweetheart,” a familiar voice says as a hand presses down on her shoulder to steady her.

Caroline’s gaze shoots upwards.

“ _You_ ,” she hisses. “You’re the bastard who stole my pool chair. You’re Nik!”

“So, I am,” he responds dryly. “And I see you’ve discovered my name.”

“Thank your girlfriend,” Caroline shoots back, and Nik groans, expression looking truly disturbed for a moment.

“Now, why did you have to go and do that, sweetheart?” Nik complains. “We were having a civil conversation. Rebekah’s my sister, not my girlfriend.”

She blushes slightly and begins to apologize, but her rage ignites again when her eyes dip down and catch a glimpse of the damage the drink has done. “You ruined my dress!” Caroline exclaims. “It was Prada!”

The white fabric is stained a reddish-brown, and there’s bits of chopped strawberry sticking to the neckline.

“I just bought it,” she adds mournfully, now too focused on the dress to pay heed to Nik.

“That stain will be near-impossible to remove,” Nik chimes in, mouth turned up in a frown. “I will admit that I am partly at fault since I glanced down at my phone for a moment and walked into you, but you too could have been looking up.”

“Fine,” she says shrilly without looking up, still prodding at the fabric. “We’re both at fault. But my dress is still ruined! What am I supposed to do now?”

Nik doesn’t answer, his fingers swiftly unbuttoning his dark-colored shirt. He shrugs it off, leaving him in a white undershirt that doesn’t look out of place with the rest of the attire in the club, and offers it to Caroline. “Here, sweetheart. Consider this my apology.”

“What?” Caroline is taken aback, mouth gaping open slightly. “I can’t just take your shirt. I’m a total stranger!”

“Sweetheart, we’ve already bumped into each other twice in the last two days at a resort that claims to be twice as large as Disneyland. You accused me of stealing your chair,” Nik tells her, chuckling. “We’re practically dating at this point. Now, just take the shirt, and when you get back to the hotel, ask for it to delivered to the room of Marcel Gerard.”

Nodding wordlessly, Caroline takes the shirt and slips it on, tugging it and adjusting it in a way that it covers the front of her dress. “Thank you,” she responds quietly, unsure of how to react now that her anger has faded away.

“No need to thank me, sweetheart,” Nik drawls, his playful tone smoothing some of Caroline’s awkwardness and tension. “I’m just making up for stealing your pool chair.”

Caroline regains enough of her composure to roll her eyes at Nik. “Finally!” she states triumphantly. “You admit it. You are a pool chair thief.”

“I guess I am.” Nik shrugs, his lips stretching into a mirthful smile. “Now that apologies have been made, are we familiar enough with each other that I will be able to ask for something quite daring? Perhaps your name?”

Throwing back her head to laugh, she prepares to answer, but Elena suddenly appears at her elbow, expression harried.

“Caroline, there you are,” the brunette says in relief. “We have to go. Katherine got in a bar fight with this guy who tried to follow her inside the women’s bathroom. Bonnie’s got her out front in a taxi. Let’s go.” She doesn’t even spare a glance for Nik.

Before Caroline can protest, she’s bundled off by Elena, barely managing to wave apologetically at Nik. “Sorry,” she calls behind her.

“Don’t be, Caroline,” Nik shouts back with a smirk, his accent caressing her name in a way that makes her sigh. “Knowing our luck, I’ll be seeing you soon.”

 

* * *

 

There’s knocking at her hotel room door, barely audible over the shower, but Caroline still turns the faucet to turn off the flow of water and slips a plush, oversized bathrobe on as she goes to open the door, pulling it wide enough open to stick only her head out.

“Good morning, Ms. Forbes,” the uniformed hotel worker says with a polite smile. “There was a note delivered for you from another guest.”

“Oh, um.” Caroline bites her lip, peering further out the door and down at the cream-colored envelope in the hotel worker’s hands. “I wasn’t expecting anything, but thank you.” She reaches and takes the envelope, smiling at the hotel worker as she closes the door and locks it.

She slips out the note and unfolds it as she returns to the bathroom.

In elegant but messy handwriting, it reads:

_Caroline, I know that we have had few and brief interactions, but I would love to see you again. Please meet me tonight on the hotel room for dinner._

It’s signed by Nik.

Caroline gasps, her heart fluttering slightly. She didn’t expect Nik to ask her on a date even though they shared undeniable chemistry, but now that he has, she’s elated. Glad.

Well, looks like she’s cancelling her evening plans with her friends.

            

* * *

 

 

Caroline’s putting the finishing touches on her lip, blush-colored to match her peony-printed sundress, when her phone rings, startling her enough that she nearly smears her lipstick over her cheek. She quickly caps the tube and drops it none-too-gently onto the bathroom counter, hand scrabbling for her phone.

She flips it off, eyeing the contact name of her caller, and groans.

_Stefan Salvatore_

Stefan is Damon’s brother and his counterpart at the publishing firm. Caroline likes him; they’re friends who lunch occasionally, but every time Stefan calls out of the blue, it’s always related to something Damon fucked up and means more work for Caroline.

She swipes on her phone screen to accept the call, pressing it to her ear.

“Hey, Care,” Stefan says. “How’s your vacation going?”

 _It was fine until you called_ , she thinks.

“Get to the point, Salvatore,” she sighs. “You didn’t call me just to chat when you know I’m on vacation. What do you need?”

Stefan makes an apologetic sound. “Sorry, Care, but you’re going to have to cut your vacation short. Damon was fired, and we’re gonna lose N. Mikaelson to our rivals. We need you to come back.”

“Fuck,” Caroline cries, running her hand through her perfect curls and mussing them up. “I took this vacation after so many years. I worked so much overtime to get Mikaelson to sign on. We can’t lose him!”

“I know, Care,” Stefan tells her regretfully, “but there’s not much I can do. I’ve been up day and night for the past week trying to secure our other authors.”

“When did Damon get fired?” she asks slowly.

“The day you left,” Stefan admits. “I’m only calling you, because you’re our last resort. If we lose Mikaelson, two years of our hard work goes down the drain.”

“Fine,” Caroline sighs again. “When do I leave?”

“I bought a ticket for you. The flight leaves in an hour and a half. You have maybe an hour to get to the airport,” Stefan explains.

 _Shit_. Even if she speed-packs, she’ll barely be able to make it to the airport. And Nik, oh Nik. She’s never going to make it to dinner, and she doesn’t know how to tell him that. She doesn’t have his phone number or even his full name.

“Care? You still there?” Stefan asks.

“Yup. Still here. Gotta go now. Have to pack. Bye.” She cuts the call and rushes to her suitcase, mind whirling.

Caroline may not know his phone number, but she knows a name for a hotel room that he’s connected to. She quickly flips the note over and grabs a pen, scribbling on the back of it.

_Nik, I’m sorry, but something’s come up. I won’t be able to make dinner. Sorry, Caroline._

 

* * *

 

It’s two weeks after she was forced to leave her vacation early, and Caroline is exhausted in every sense of the word.

She’s spent most of her time since she returned from the resort in her office, sending frantic emails and chasing after N. Mikaelson’s team, and they’ve finally secured a meeting with the reclusive author himself today.

She should be triumphant, but her mind’s still fixed on a certain British man.

“Caroline,” Stefan says, drawing her attention away from the file she’s drearily gazing at. He smiles at her. “I can’t believe that this happening. We’ve worked all year for this.”

“I gave up my vacation for this,” Caroline mutters.

His expression becomes sympathetic, and he slides a comforting hand over hers. “Care,” he says, looking her in the eyes. “After this, you’ll be getting much more than a vacation. Damon’s position is still vacant. If they don’t promote you, I’ll eat my own shoe.”

“Don’t do that,” she jokes. “Your shoe is Italian leather, and you’re vegetarian.”

Stefan chuckles, reaching for a pile of stapled papers and straightening them. “Good to know,” he says just as there’s a quick knock at the door. “Come in.” He turns to Caroline and mouths _It’s them._

She clears her throat with a cough, straightens up in her chair, and steels herself to meet N. Mikaelson.

The first man through the door is tall, broad-shouldered, brunet, and dressed in a stylish grey suit. “Good morning,” he says. “My name is Elijah Mikaelson, and I am my brother’s manager.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Caroline says as she stands and shakes Elijah’s hand. “And where would your infamous brother be?”

“Right here, sweetheart,” comes a familiar voice as Nik shoulders his way through the doorway, informally dressed in a grey Henley and jean. “My name is Niklaus Mikaelson. Klaus to most people. Nik to you. And I believe, Caroline, that you still owe me dinner.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here](http://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/) to let me know how much you liked this fic or request a prompt. Comments and kudos would be nice too!


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